Chapter 3

I should think we’ve done rather well so far,” Mr. Twigg said somewhat smugly as they held durbar, or conference, ashore at Bencoolen on Sumatra. They’d run into port before a punishing South China Sea taifun that had loomed up above the Johore Straits, and Telesto had been lucky to make a safe harbor before the full fury had broken upon them. The storm had passed, ravaging the settlement, but sparing the well-anchored ships. In its aftermath, a crushing humidity had settled in, along with steady rain and choking heat, and not a breath of breeze. If Bencoolen had been the arse-hole of the world before, the taifun had done nothing by way of improvement.

“And what is to be done with our French prisoners, sir?” Captain Ayscough inquired as he poured himself another healthful mug of lemon-water and brandy. “The men don’t much care for having them around, you know, pitiable as they are.”

“Perhaps it’d be a kindness to leave them here at Bencoolen,” Twigg said with an idle wave of his hand. “A passing French ship may take them eventually. Them that survived, that is.”

They’d picked up ten terrified Frenchmen. Some had been bitten by sharks, and their wounds turned septic immediately, and the gangrene killed them. Not five lived now, and two of those were in precarious health. Lewrie suspected Twigg’s penchant for cruel interrogation may have hastened the departure of some of those from life.

“Leaving them here in Bencoolen is no kindness, sir,” Lt. Col. Sir Hugo Willoughby granted. Alan’s father had grown even older since he’d last laid eyes on him: his hair thinner and greyer, his face more care-lined and leathery. “Hasn’t been much of a kindness for my battalion, either, let me assure you.”

“You agreed it would place your troops closer to the action, I might remind you, Sir Hugo,” Twigg said, frowning. The vilely hot weather had not improved anyone’s tempers, but it was almost too hot and humid to argue. “As for the Frogs, I care less if all the buggers succumb. No real loss, is it, though I would wish for one or two to survive to bear the tale back to Paris. The effect would have been welcome.”

“And do you feel that same impartiality to my men, sir?” Sir Hugo snapped.

“Sir Hugo,” Twigg drawled. “Colonel Willoughby. Unlike my utter lack of sympathy for piratical Frenchmen, I feel most strongly and deeply for the plight of the men of the 19^th Native Infantry. And I assure you, I shall be most happy to extricate them from this hellish stew at the earliest opportunity. That moment has almost arrived, sir, but you must bear the deplorable conditions here for only a few more months. Soon, I promise you.”

“It had best be soon, sir,” Sir Hugo replied evenly, controlling his own temper with remarkable restraint, as Lewrie could attest. “We arrived in mid-February with a grenadier company, eight line companies, one and a half light companies, and the full artillery detachment. And now, with Captain Chiswick and his half-company returned to me, I may only field eight. Eight, sir! Allow me to protest most vigorously that if this battalion is not removed to a more healthful climate, I won’t have a platoon of men available to you by autumn! I demand of you, if you have any estimate of when we may depart this reeking cesspit, pray inform us of it.”

“I quite understand, Sir Hugo,” Twigg replied, on the edge of an explosion of his own temper, no matter how much the weather might dampen his fuses. ‘Two months. Three months at the most, weather permitting, and you shall be out of here, at sea and in action.”

That created a stir of interest among the army officers seated behind Sir Hugo, and among the naval officers as well.

“You see, sirs,” Twigg continued calmly, getting a smug look on his face. “I know where this fellow Guillaume Choundas is. And where he shall be in a few months’ time.” Twigg looked about the damp and gloomy room, a wood and thatch imposture of a proper building, letting the stirring and chattering of their excitement swell and recede like a breaking wave of adulation before continuing.

“Shaken as the French survivors were, it was fairly simple to play upon their fears, catch them out when they were at their weakest,” Twigg explained. “Have we a good chart of the South China Seas, Captain Ayscough? Could it be hung where all could see it? Good.”

“Here, gentlemen. In the Spratly Islands.” Twigg chuckled.

“Pretty far lost and gone from anywhere,” Ayscough commented.

“But located so nicely for piracy, sirs,” Twigg informed them. “Flat, tiny, and worth nothing to anyone. As our sailing master may attest?”

Brainard stood to address the assembly, flushing a bit at being before so many people. “There’s water enough, wild goats and pigs to eat. Sea-birds and their eggs. Nobody lives there, though, not permanent. Too small to farm. Too low to make ‘em safe durin’ taifun season, ‘cept for the highest hills inland. Good anchorage, I’ll admit. Chinese pirates sometimes shelter there, same for other pirate bands like the Sea Dyaks. Have to bring in salt-meats and such if you plan on stayin’ there a long time.”

Brainard shrugged and reddened, trying to think of what else he might impart, but Twigg waved him off, which Brainard accepted with a whoosh of relieved breath.

“The Spratlys are two-hundred-fifty miles southeast of the Annamese shores, three hundred miles northwest of Borneo, right in the middle of the mouth of the South China Sea,” Twigg related. “A ship, or ships, working out of here could control the shipping trade in time of war, especially if one were to be allied with native pirates who could patrol in their praos for likely pickings. Too far west for the Spanish in the Philippines to worry about. Too far north and west for the Dutch or Portuguese to deal with. Too far north and east of even this poor trading settlement of Bencoolen for England to look in on. I’m told a man named Francis Light may develop trading stations on the Malay peninsula soon, so that situation may change, but properly fortified and garrisoned, this little group of islands would be a hard nut to crack, even in time of war when a fleet might be available. This is where Choundas shall be. This is where he is based during the summer months. Where the pirates meet him. Where captured ships are looted, and their crews taken.”

“And did we discover with whom Choundas and Sicard were in league, Mister Twigg?” Lieutenant Choate asked. “Would some of our prisoners be there still that we might rescue?”

“As to the last part of your question, I’m afraid the answer is no, Mister Choate,” Twigg replied, frowning while rubbing the bridge of his nose as though in pain. “There is little chance that any Englishmen survived capture for very long. Especially if it was the native pirates who did it. Should they have, they’d have been taken east to Sulu Island and sold in the great slave markets there. And it would take a fleet to sail in there and free those unfortunates. As to the first part, we now know that the French are allied with the blood-thirstiest of the lot. The Lanun Rovers, from the Illana Lagoon on Mindanao.”

“Oh, stap me!” Brainard hissed with alarm. “More likely, our people are skulls adorning their bloody praos by now!”

“Goddamn French!” Ayscough spat. ‘Trust them to take hands with those devils. Not just as allies, but friends!”

“Well, not for very much longer, sir,” Twigg said, chuckling dryly. “I propose we strike the Spratlys sometime after mid-June. When Choundas and his piratical crew will be there. When the Lanun Rovers will spend the summer with him. We may catch them all in one fell swoop!”

“And just where is your pirate now, sir?” Sir Hugo asked.

“He left Canton in late November, Sir Hugo. As I told you, I suspect he waited downriver at Macao for at least a week or so, to see if we would pursue him. When we didn’t, he most likely stopped in at the Spratlys, then sailed for the French possessions in the Indian Ocean. We have information that his first stop would be lie de France, to have a refit in the yards there. Those same yards service the Royal French Navy, I might remind you. His usual course of action, his modus operandi, if you will allow me”—Twigg sniffed loftily, but gave them all a brief smile to remind them that he was human, after all—“would be to sail on for Pondichery, where he would load a cargo of Indian goods destined for Canton in the fall. A cargo that he would land at the Spratlys, since the goods would prove a liability to a privateering cruise. He does not load opium, only run-of-the-mill wares that will not spoil during storage ashore. The opium comes from our ships.”

“And he didn’t sell any out of Macao, as I recall, sir,” Captain Ayscough stuck in.

“Indeed not, sir,” Twigg agreed. “Part of his innocent pose is to deplore the opium trade. And a man so high-minded as to forgo the profits of opium could never, ever be suspected of anything so vile as piracy, now could he, hmm?” Which set them all into ironic laughter. “Then, he and Captain Sicard of La Malouine would meet in Pondichery.”

“To put the bulk of their combined crews into Poisson D’Or, so he’d be as well-manned as any royal frigate, sir?” Percival asked with a hopeful expression.

“Exactly so, Mister Percival.” Twigg beamed at him like a fond daddy. “Exactly as you surmised. Right, then! Here’s Choundas, waiting in Pondichery for Sicard and La Malouine to arrive by at least the first of April, but she won’t this year, nor next year, either, ha ha! By mid-April, he’ll have smelled a rat. What’s worse for him, Sicard was to bring the profits from both ships to him. He lost no money by having his cargo confiscated by the Viceroy in Canton. Their arrangement with that particularly corrupt mandarin made sure he’d get full value from it, and give him freedom of action to boot. But suddenly, he’s starved of operating funds. There’s nothing to purchase a cargo with in Pondichery. No money to buy arms and powder for his piratical allies. And, more importantly, no ship such as Sicard’s to serve as his cartel for all the loot he expects to take this year of our Lord 1785. We’ve limited his options to an early raiding summer. Here!”

“It strikes me, though, Mister Twigg,” Lewrie spoke up, “that even the most valuable goods such as silver and opium take up a fair amount of cargo space. Surely, La Malouine could not carry all of it. If only a quarter of the booty ends up in Canton, there must be some other ship, or ships, involved with Choundas yet. If he has, as you say, a full, believable cargo stashed in the Spratlys for his appearance in Canton in the fall, where does the rest of it go?”

“A great deal of it would end up in the market at Sulu, sir,” Twigg countered. “Brasswares, copper, Indian cotton goods, all of it would be just as valuable among the pirate bands as it would in Canton. No, it’ll be Choundas on his own this year, I’ll wager. Driven by desperation to take more risks than before.”

“If he’s any brains at all, he’ll know the game’s over, sir,” Lieutenant Choate insisted. ‘Time to lay low for a season. Or sail home for France and let someone else take over for him for a while.”

“Ah, but he can’t do that, Mister Choate,” Twigg insisted.

“If he leaves the Indian Ocean, he loses everything he’s built up out here. No rendezvous with the pirates in the Spratlys, say. Then what pirate would ever trust another Frenchman to keep his word? He’d not only be discarding his present alliances, he’d be ruining a chance for anyone who follows. The French Ministry of Marine who dreamed up his dirty business would never stand for that, oh no! Why, they’d break Choundas to common seaman if he simply sailed away. And, I don’t think our lad is the sort to cave in so quickly. He’s an ambitious little Breton peasant, a jumped-up fisherman who has no desire to end his days netting sardines in a filthy little smack. Pride goeth before a fall, and our boy has an ocean of pride. No, he might be late for the rendezvous. He may come empty-handed, but he’ll be in the Spratlys by June.”

“So we should get Telesto back to Calcutta as soon as possible,” Captain Ayscough surmised. “After a year in Asian waters, and all that time idle in Whampoa Reach, we have to careen and bream her bottom. The weed on her quick-work looks like the Forest of Dean. Land our cargo, unload the artillery first, then refloat her and outfit her for battle.”

“And be back here toward the end of May, to pick up Sir Hugo’s battalion and escort the Lady Charlotte transport to the Spratlys,” Twigg said bouyantly. “Sail into harbor, land troops and guns, and blow Choundas, his ship and any pirates clean off the face of God’s seas!”

There was a lot of cheering that ringing speech. Cheers for a chance for action after festering at Bencoolen in sodden heat and agues, for final retribution against the hated French who had outmaneuvered them during the winter, for a chance that this whole affair would end and Telesto’s flexible term of commission could end snug in some English harbor by early 1786. They would be two years away from friends and family by then, two years gone from their homes, and did not relish the prospect of a third.

Lewrie was not enthused, though. Troubling questions had their way with his imaginings. While he was most junior naval officer there, he knew he had to speak them aloud, before the conference ended. Later would look like croakum, and Twigg would not change his mind once they had settled on the plan, unless forced to, and afterthoughts would not be force enough.

“Excuse me again, Mister Twigg,” he said, clearing his throat to draw silence enough in which to speak his piece, “but Choundas has had four months’ freedom to refit. He’s lost profits from this year’s work, but there’s no telling how much they earned the first two years. He could outfit another ship to work with him, hire a new crew to replace what he lost aboard La Malouine. And there’s nothing to prevent him from already being in the Spratly Islands. We didn’t peek in to see if anyone held the islands for his return, or if these Lanun Rovers were already there waiting for him. We have no idea what we’re to sail into, really, and he has all the time in the world.”

“Because I did not want to alert anyone who might have been in those islands until we were in all respects ready to strike when the basket was full, so to speak, Mister Lewrie,” Twigg sneered in objection. “And, as I have just related, I have it on the very best authority that Choundas will sail to Pondichery first, waiting for Sicard to return and join him. That is his usual wont.”

Twigg looked as if he’d enjoy picking up a “barker” and firing a pistol ball right through Lewrie’s heart. The durbar had been going so wonderfully well, and his plan had carried, when up popped Lewrie with his morale-eroding carping!

“His usual style, sir,” Lewrie replied, smiling. “But things aren’t the usual this year. He has us to worry about. What the survivors of his crew remembered him doing in the past don’t signify. He could have looked into the Spratlys and left some men behind as a garrison this time. Hired hands to man Pois-son D’Or with the hopes of meeting us on our way back to Calcutta, with La Malouine tailing us to make it two against one. He could be up in the Nicobars or the Straits of Malacca waiting for that this instant. Or rush back to the Spratlys ahead of last year’s schedule while we have to sail for Calcutta and back, to gain a march on us. Seems to me, sir, if we wait ‘til June we either hit an empty bag, or walk right into a bloody fleet of pirates and wide-awake Frogs.”

He turned to his father, who was scowling at his audacity to speak to authority like that. “As my dear father may tell you, sir, his troops would do us no good aboard their transport if Choundas is ready for us. His men would stand no chance at all.”

“And what would you suggest, my lad?” Sir Hugo inquired, stifling any objections that Twigg was more than ready to raise.

“That we hit the Spratlys now, sir,” Alan stated. “That we do not allow Choundas to form a combination against us, with pirates of another cartel ship. Or hire another French captain to side with him. We’re here, even against the nor’easterlies, two weeks’ sail away, with nearly a full battalion of troops trained for shore landings and equipped to fight. Land our cargo here in Bencoolen for the nonce if we have to. Even if you have to sail to Calcutta and back afterward, we would hold the island before Choundas even knows Sicard is lost.”

“Oh, God,” Twigg sighed, shaking his head as though at the fire-eating impetuosity of youth. “Mister Lewrie, I thought better of you. If we do take the Spratlys, and Choundas arrives earlier, as you say, then he escapes before we’re ready to strike him, and God knows what secret lair he establishes next. I’ll not spend all this summer and all of ‘86 chasing him ‘round the Great South Seas! And if we do take two precious weeks to delay our refit in Calcutta, we lose any chance of pursuing him.”

“The Spratlys are a healthier climate for my father’s men than Bencoolen, sir,” Alan rejoined. “And we would not have to depend solely upon Telesto for support. If you could dispatch another well-armed country ship to our aid, once we’re ashore ...”

“And where, pray, do we find funds enough to do that, sir?” Twigg fumed.

“Why, from the profits of this year’s trading season, sir,” Lewrie responded. “That’s what they’re for, surely.”

Twigg’s jaw dropped open for a brief moment at the suggestion. And before he could put a refuting argument into play, Sir Hugo stood up and cleared his throat, wandering to the map to peer at it.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he announced. “Does it not to you as well, as the senior Navy man, Captain Ayscough? Does your sailing master think a battalion could find decent provender there for a period of some months? Would it be healthier for my men?”

“If the place may swarm with pirates and Frogs, Sir Hugo, it’d support them decent enough,” Brainard allowed. “And you have salt-meat and such for rations here, and in the transport. You could hold out long enough for us to get to Calcutta and back with more. And there’s goats, pigs and fowl enough here in Bencoolen to take with you. As to the climate, it’s be not near as hot, and a lot drier. Sea breeze’d make it seem ten degrees cooler.”

“And there is the possibility that this Choundas fellow’s pirates might already be there, could they not?” Sir Hugo speculated. “I don’t know much about ‘em, but it seems to me it’d be better to fight them now, before they could ally with French artillery and trained gunners. A battalion of well-drilled troops’d make mincemeat of ‘em once we’re ashore. Why wait until your foe is lined up and ready to fire, I say? My officers’ll agree with me; the way to defeat a larger foe is chew ‘em up into penny packets first. Then boot hell out of the remainder. Knacker the buggers bit at a time.”

“Gentlemen, we ...” Twigg tried to object.

“Lewrie’s right, I think,” Ayscough stuck in, enthused from his torpor. “As you are, Sir Hugo. Take them on in manageable portions, is the best way. Let’s also allow as how Mister Lewrie could be correct in thinking that there’s much too much booty for only one or two ships to carry. We might discover another Frog cartel ship such as La Malouine there. Hamstring the bastard even more.”

“I might point out,” Twigg griped, “that it is nearly two thousand miles back to the Spratlys, sirs. Fifteen days’ sail against the prevailing northeasterlies at this season? Say three more to load the troops aboard the Lady Charlotte. Then nearly a month from there back to Calcutta. ‘Tis the third week of March, now. First week of April would put us here, off the Spratlys. Then three weeks back to Calcutta would be the first of May. Not enough time to refit Telesto and clean her bottom, and make it back to the Spratlys before Choundas arrives. It simply cannot be done, sirs. But from here to Calcutta is only ten days! A week to unload cargo, lighten ship and careen her, a week to set her to rights again, and be back here to escort Lady Charlotte and the troops to our destination. By the end of May, sirs. By the first week of June, at worst. When Choundas most certainly shall be there, and may be confronted. And defeated.”

“Then by all means sail to Calcutta direct from here,” Sir Hugo said. “But let me take my battalion north now. The same argument obtains. We take the islands and the harbor, defeat what pirates we encounter, destroy or commandeer what works the French have built and await your return, snugly ashore and entrenched, as soldiers best understand, sir. And you don’t wait until your ship is ready to put to sea. Do what... do what my son suggested. Charter or purchase a fast, well-armed ship and crew to come reinforce us.”

“There’ll not be half a dozen suitable vessels in the Hooghly to choose from, sir. The bulk of the country ships andEast Indiamen will still be in Macao, or on passage still,” Twigg snarled.

“The slow ones will, sir,” Lewrie stuck in. “But we don’t want anything to do with a slow ship. Like that Rebel privateer John Paul Jones said, ‘Give me a fast ship, for I intend to go in harm’s way,’ did he not?”

“And what’s even harder to find in the East Indies than trained European soldiers, are trained European seamen and gunners,” Twigg said in reply.

“I ...” Captain Ayscough began, “that is, you and I, Mister Twigg, have writ from the Crown to commandeer or recruit as we will. The Lady Charlotte’s crew for one. The crews of the patrol cutters and small brigs here in Bencoolen. Why, they’d trample each other to get out of this pesthole and see some action! A fair amount of any merchantman’s crew have Navy experience. Who knows what loot there is to be found among those pirates? Enough lure of loot, anyway, to get any number of hands to sign aboard. It’s not like we were meant to show a profit out of our voyages. The earnings were to help support our work, not line our pockets, or end up surplus Droits of the Crown. And here’s another thought for you. If you gentlemen would join me here at this window, such as it is?”

The assembly of infantry officers, Navy officers and civilian experts was drawn by Ayscough’s prompting away from the table and the maps, to gather by the window and stare out through the rains and the water guttering off the thatch and bamboo roof.

“I conjure you to feast your eyes on the transport yonder, the Lady Charlotte,” Ayscough directed. “For the benefit of you Army lads, she’s the shabby old bitch on the left, not the splendid ‘Bristol Fashion’ lady on the right, ha ha!”

Lady Charlotte was indeed shabby, an old, neglected dray-horse of a ship, of about eight hundred tons burthen. She mounted some six-pounder chase guns, and sixteen twelve-pounder great guns on her upper deck, but had the gunports of a better-armed ship.

“My bosun may give up what paint we have,” Ayscough told them merrily. “And he will, if he knows what’s good for him! Lady Charlotte may be transformed into the very image of the stoutest fifty-gunned two decker as ever swum! A proper ocean bulldog!”

“Or, sir,” Choate snickered, “she could end up looking remarkably like La Malouine.”

“Why, bless my soul, you nacky young bastard!” Ayscough said with a booming laugh, the first anyone had heard him utter in months. “I do believe you’ve been conniving with Mister Lewrie. Yes, with a lateen yard on her mizzen for a spanker, ‘stead of yon gaff and boom, she could be laying at anchor in the Spratlys, waiting for Choundas to return.”

“Imagine the consternation he would feel, to expect her lost, and there she is, big as life, sir,” Lewrie chortled. “He’d have to sail into harbor to speak her. Close enough for us to hull him with artillery. He might sail right into a trap. Oil or varnish to darken her upper works and she’d resemble La Malouine well enough.”

“He’d never fall for it,” Twigg carped.

“One never knows, sir,” Ayscough sniffed. “He might. He just might. And, if Telesto and the second vessel Lewrie suggested that we hire were to be lurking off-shore, somewhere to the north ... yes, to the north would be best, I believe ... a shore party could send a signal to alert us as to the best moment to fall upon the harbor.”

“I most strenuously object to this ... dribbling of our assets into ... into”—Twigg spluttered—“penny-packets! As Crown representative, Captain Ayscough ... damme, sir, any delay in getting to Calcutta, and there will be no second ship dispatched from there to succor Colonel Willoughby’s troops. And there will be the transport, in harbor and defenseless. Her loss would destroy any hope of pursuing Choundas, should he not fall for your ruse in disguising her. And strand our troops on this island a thousand miles from nowhere.”

“She could be escorted north by one of the patrol vessels here in the harbor already, sir,” Ayscough allowed, turning to peer out the open window once more. “There’s a ketch-rigged ship out there that’s suit. See her yonder? And if not her, perhaps the brig lying farther out. That might be best, after all. In addition to whatever vessel we may send out from Calcutta before Telesto is ready to rejoin our endeavor.”

“Little better than fishing smacks and packets,” Twigg scoffed.

“Some fresh paint, the proper flag flying, and at a distance who may deny they are not well-manned warships?” Ayscough shot back. He was in a fine and confident fettle now, and would not be gainsayed. “Were I a pirate, I’d not wish to fight one of them. One hard battle yardarm to yardarm would cause so much damage the raiding season would be over right there.

That’s the risk a privateersman takes. I doubt if this Frog Choundas wants to fight a real battle against a flotilla, after all. Overpowering one weak merchantman at a time is more his style.”

“Even more reason for him to turn tail and run for God knows where as soon as he spots strange ships in his harbor,” Twigg gloomed.

“They might look like early captures,” Lewrie suggested. “If they were in harbor, sirs. Even more reason to enter and moor, to see what the booty amounts to so far.”

“And should Choundas arrive early, enter harbor,” Twigg carped, “and not be utterly destroyed, then Telesto hits that empty bag you spoke of, with him days’ gone and free to plunder still!”

“Come, Mister Twigg, you cannot have things both ways,” Captain Ayscough smirked. “Either he will arrive early, as Lewrie suspects, or he shall keep to his previous schedule, as you bejieve. Either way, sufficient force shall confront him.”

Twigg opened his mouth to make further objections, but Ayscough raised a restraining hand and cut him off.

“You, sir, have fulfilled your brief. You were charged with an investigation into the disappearance of so many of our merchantmen, of identifying which native pirates were responsible. And that you have done. You were further charged with the task of unmasking the French behind their activities. And that, too, you have accomplished. You have found their base of operations, when to expect their arrival to launch more depredations against English shipping and have raised a naval and military force to destroy them.”

“Yes, but ...”

“But now, sir,” Ayscough hammered on, “the said destruction is a naval and military matter, the proper use of those forces allocated to you. And that use, Mister Twigg, is my bailiwick at sea, and it is Sir Hugo’s on the land. From here on out, sir, allow other batsmen to have their innings. Now, you may hold our coats.”

And about bloody well time, too, Alan thought! Damn all civilian meddlers. Especially the ones that dreamt this horror up in the first place.

“Are you familiar with the vessels in harbor, Sir Hugo?” The captain asked.

“Hmm, I fear it’s my son who understands things nautical, Captain Ayscough,” Sir Hugo replied, chuckling. “The brig, I believe, though, is a Macao packet. I’ve heard tell the ... what-you-called-it ... a ketch?... is the local supply ship from Calcutta or Madras. I’ve met their owners.”

“I shall wish to speak to them about hiring or selling us their ships, should they prove suitable,” Ayscough said decisively. “I believe that we have sufficient funds aboard Telesto at present to do so, and pay a guinea joining-bounty for every hand that signs into service. Do we not. Mister Twigg?”

“Aye, sir, we do,” Twigg nodded, all fight blown out of him.

Sir Hugo took Alan’s arm and steered him out to the verandah as the details were thrashed out. It was a little cooler, but not much, out of the overcrowded rooms. They could hear Twigg, still insisting they sail for Calcutta as soon as the weather moderated.

“Thank you for that back there, Alan.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, sir.”

“I’d have done just about anything to get my troops out of this malaria-ridden sink!” Sir Hugo said with some heat. “Do you always up and speak your mind like that? Can’t promise you an ambitious naval career if you keep that up. But for now, I’m grateful. And for what you said. About ‘your dear father.’ “

“Well, about that, sir ...” Lewrie cringed. “It was the only way to get your support, you see. Get you to listen to what I had to say and back my play. I expected you wanted to get your arse out of Bencoolen, before you went under to some sickness, so what you want, and what I thought needed doing, could work together.”

“Damn you, you little shit!” Sir Hugo stiffened. “Get mine own arse out of here? Do you think what I said about my men was so much moonshine?”

“I’ve never known you to care very much about anyone. I don’t know what to believe,” Lewrie replied evenly.

“By God, Alan, you may think me the biggest sinner you’ll ever meet, but you’ll not lay that on me!” his father growled. “Before I wasted seed enough to quicken your miserable life, I was a soldier! May not have been a great one. May not have been a glad one most of the time, but I was good enough. Think what you will of me, but by God above, this battalion is mine. I fought with it, marched with it, killed with it and bled with it. We’ve cracked lice together, eaten the same rotten food, swilled the same filthy water, and they look to me to do what’s right by ‘em! And I will, no matter what you think. You may sneer at ‘em. Sneering’s a thing I remember you’re quite good at. So they’re not a fashionable English regiment! Think they’re not good soldiers just because they’re Hindoos? Think it’s a come-down for me ... all I can command is a tag-rag-and-bobtail pack of bare-arsed Bengalis? Well, let me tell you, even when they were at their worst, they’re the best troops I’ve ever seen, Goddamn your blood! And now they’ve been fleshed out and equipped proper, I could take them through the Brigade of Guards like suet through a goose. Something else I’m prepared to do, and they know it ... I’m their colonel—I’m ready to die with ‘em, if it comes to that. Aye, you sneer all you bloody well want. Maybe you were born a bastard after all!”

Sir Hugo reset his waist-coat, the hang of his smallsword, and thumped down the steps to the muddy yard, leaving Lewrie at a loss for words, red-faced with sudden shame.

“Sir?” Alan called out, stepping down into the mud and drizzle. “Father?”

Sir Hugo halted and turned around, squelching mud on his boots.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Alan admitted. “I didn’t even know there was anything you really cared about. Except for money and quim.”

“Well, they still rate pretty high on my list of favorites,” Sir Hugo confessed. “Doing what I’m best at, horrible as it can be, is on that list, too, you know.”

“I most heartily apologize, Father.”

“Apology accepted. Son. To be expected, I suppose. You know very little about me. Part of that’s my fault. Come to my quarters.”

“You haven’t brought your band with you, have you?” Alan smiled.

“No, and the girls are in someone else’s bibikhana now. Still, I never travel without a decent wine cellar. There’s some claret you might appreciate.” Sir Hugo laughed.

“I’d admire that, thankee ... Father.”

“You know,” Sir Hugo commented as they trudged across the muddy maidan of die military cantonment, “I don’t half trust your man Twigg.”

“I’ve yet to know what to make of him, yes.”

“What bothered me most was what you said about scouting out the islands we’re to capture. He sounded more eager to get his precious goods back to Calcutta. First ship in would reap a fortune. Fortune to fund your expedition out here, yes. And fortune enough to line the pockets of a palatikal with what’s left over.”

“He knew!” Alan spat out. “That’s what surprised me. Right after we sank La Malouine, he knew. By that morning at the latest. And yet he kept it to himself, told no one, didn’t suggest we look in on the Spratlys. If that taifun hadn’t forced us down here to Bencoolen for shelter, I expect we’d be halfway up the Malacca Straits by now, your battalion be damned, and he’d sit on his news until we’d crossed the Hooghly Bar. Probably wanted something to impress Warren Hastings with.”

“Ah, well he’d better be quick about it, then. Hastings is under a cloud. There’s talk from home of him sailing for England to face impeachment charges with ‘John Company.’ Might have someone new in the Bengal Presidency soon.”

“Someone who doesn’t know a bloody thing about our mission?”

“That could make things very interesting.” Sir Hugo frowned. “Damme, here come the bloody rains again! I assume a sailor can run? Run or get soaked.”

‘This sailor can,” Alan said, matching the older man’s stride easily.

“One thing to expect,” Sir Hugo puffed.

“What?”

“Twigg probably cares for you now ... as much as cold, boiled mutton,” Sir Hugo replied between breaths. “Look for a spell of the dirty.”